


We met one Winter's Night

by Jato



Category: Captain America (Movies), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Handwavey Canon, Handwavey Timeline, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie)?, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Daredevil Season 2, Pre-Captain America: Civil War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6478111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jato/pseuds/Jato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which The Winter Soldier decides Karen Page is his new handler and her other guard dogs are rightfully wary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually know where I'm going with this or whether or not I'll continue. I just had an idea and I ran with it. *shrug*

The soldier doesn’t recognise this place.

Only he does.

He should.

Faded images dance at the corners of his memory, flickering murky pictures that incite a sharp sensation, a sharp _cold_ sensation whenever he concentrates, tries to think. He grits through the pain. Pain is good. Pain is important.

And this place is important. He was drawn here.

No.

No, the soldier wasn’t drawn here.

He needs to keep going, further.

But he can’t.

He’ll compromise the operation.

The soldier has to stay here, for now. Because the mission is there. The soldier must remain here. He needs to stay here until he gets his mission parameters, needs them updated. He needs the handlers.

But he couldn’t find the handlers. Not at any of the bases he checked. Maybe he will at the other bases. But they’re too far away, the asset was drawn here. He’s already checked the safe house here.

 

Grunting, the soldier pushed the brim of the baseball cap down, pulling the grey hood further forward with his flesh hand. There was a light drizzle tonight, stray raindrops soaked into his jacket as he pressed his back further against the brick wall. Electrical sparking has him glancing down the alleyway and pausing, brushing the handle of the knife in his pocket with his left hand only to calm when he realised it was just that street light again.

Three days. He’ll stay here another three days before he moves on to the next base.

The soldier doesn’t like this place. He hears footsteps running across rooftops every night. They head towards him but never close enough for the soldier to pinpoint them, not even from a vantage point high up on a water tower hidden from view, not from the highest window or fire escape ladder. The asset expects enemy soldiers to come slit his throat in his sleep.

It doesn’t happens.

He stays on edge.

 

 An hour passes when the soldier notices a pair of figures moving further down the street. It’s late out, late enough that two people walking down the street is a strange sight. Late enough for it to catch the soldier’s attention.

The first is a woman. Tall. Slender. Blonde.

That last word sends a chill to his brain. The asset shakes his head, sending the sensation away.

She’s hugging a file close to her chest with her left arm, her right hand stealthily working its way into her purse. For a gun most likely, if the man following her is any indication.

The soldier turns away.

Stepping in will draw attention. Default protocol is to stay invisible.

He follows protocol.

 

But then there’s a woman’s scream.

And the soldier is running because _Rebecca is screaming._

 

* * *

 

 

Karen stared at the screen of white.

Tapping an absent finger on the keyboard, she flicked her desk lamp on and off in a futile attempt to convince the light bulb in her mind to do the same. The empty word document stared back at her, the cursor blinking in mockery.

How could a single, blinking, pixelated, vertical line be so patronizing?

Groaning, Karen ran a hand through her hair, rubbing her temples as she glanced down at the scratches in the wood of the table.

_Writer’s block thy evil bitch_. This shouldn’t be so hard. She’s done all the research. Poured hours of work in. This should be easy. She knows what to write. She just hasn’t figured out _how_.

Leaning back in the office chair, she found her eyes straying over to the digital wall clock.

3:34 AM  

_Shit._

She knew everyone had gone home already but…

_Okay. I need sleep._ She winced when her vision blurred in response to that though. Maybe this was her brain’s way of saying coffee and Red Bulls were not an appropriate source of fuel. _I can sleep in my office?_

…

No. _No Karen that’s a bad idea_. Shutting down the laptop, she gathered her things and locked up.

 

In her sleep deprived state, Karen had forgotten that walking the streets of Hell’s Kitchen alone after dark in the middle of winter was not the brightest idea. After failing to unsuccessfully hail a cab, she decided to just power walk to her apartment. It wasn’t far. She’s done riskier things before.

Fumbling with her phone, Karen flicking through her list of contacts until she found the number she was looking for. She doesn’t want to disturb Foggy at this hour. But Matt might be out patrolling tonight. She could give him a call, ask him to ‘keep an ear out’, so to speak. Her thumb hovered over the call button.

She locked her phone.

Matt might be busy, in the middle of beating up some thugs and punching away at some lowlife’s face. No point bothering him if it wasn’t an emergency. She can take care of herself.

 

She’s two blocks from home when she realised there were footsteps behind her.

Despite being alert Karen hadn’t noticed them until now. She must be more tired than she initially thought. She can’t tell if they’re following her. While she wants to chalk them up to some harmless homeless person she speeds up her pace anyway, slowly reaching into her purse to run her fingers over the cool barrel of her gun.

The footsteps pause. She hears the scuff of boots as they turn around and walk away.

Karen let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. Adjusting the strap of her bag, she continued her fast walk.

_Just another block._

 

She didn’t make it.

Karen was walking past an alleyway when she was suddenly yanked into the shadows.

Everything happened so fast.

She barely has time to yell when a hand slapped over her mouth and nose, her back’s slammed against the cold wall and her head bounces off the brickwork. For a dizzying few moments, the world spins, everything a dark blur.

Something cold is pressed against her throat. When she snaps back from confusion she realises it’s _sharp._ Karen heaved out a panicked breath, her heart threatening to burst open from her ribcage as she blinked to try and force the world to refocus.

_“Hand your shit over, bitch.”_

Karen gasped as the pressure on her throat increased. She hadn’t realise she’d been hugging her manila folder so close to her chest. The folder she’d been using to disguise her laptop. The laptop with her _countless hours_ of blood, sweat and tears filed away on and not backed up because _she’s a moron who doesn’t back shit up_ and thinks walking through _Hell’s Kitchen alone at night_ is a perfectly dandy thing to do.

She blinked the tears out of her eyes. She could make out her assailant’s scruffy dark hair jutting out from under his dark hood. Blue eyes. Five o’ clock shadow, six foot, medium complexion, large build, terrible gin breath-

Her head’s greeted the wall once again and she yelped, feeling warm blood slide down from her hairline. He must have figured out she was profiling him. Karen sucked in another breath, blinked more tears from her eyes. They refused to focus.

“I said HAND IT OVER!”

The pocket knife’s pressed further in and Karen can feel the thin bead of blood slide down her neck. She grits her teeth.

He’s taken her purse. She can’t reach her gun. But her phone’s in her pocket. She just needs to reach Matt.

“Fuck you.”

She spat in the fucker’s face.

The guy grunted, startled. She brought her leg up, slammed her knee into his stomach, knocked all that wind out of his breath and shoved her body away from his. She kicked off her heels and ran.

She didn’t make it far.

A hand hooked around her ankle and she tripped, face first with only snowfall to prevent her nose from shattering. She clawed desperately for her phone, scrambled to somehow regain footing whilst kicking back at the same time. The hand grabbed her shoulders and in an instant she’s flipped over onto her back. Concrete bites her skull for a third time. The world’s spinning again.

Phone.

She needs her phone.

Matt.

She just needs to-

The phone’s smacked from her hands.

Before she could scream for help she tastes that hand over her mouth again. The stinging of her eyes obscured her vision but not enough to hide the figure atop her. His arm raised. The blade glinting.

_No._

_God someone please-_

The weight’s thrown off her body.

Karen wheezed, scrabbling backwards and propping herself up on bloody elbows. Pain shot up her arms and she winced, hunching forward as she pressed a hand to her bleeding skull.

_What? What happened, what-_

_WHAP!_

 She looked up. There’s a second man. A second man who had her attacker _lifted_ by the throat with a single hand. A second man with a look of pure rage in his eyes as he snarled at her attacker. A second man with a _fucking metal arm._ A metal arm that was raised and about to-

Karen shrieked, throwing her arms over her eyes. It didn’t help.

There’s another _Whap!_ Another blow, and another. Another and another and another and each one sounding wetter and wetter, just _Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap!_

Seconds ticked by and they continued. Her useless legs refused to move from where they had fallen, refused to get her away from there and towards safety, refused to get away from that _horrible sound._

She was trembling so bad she was forced to peek through the gaps of her arms, only to see red coating the snow. More and more red, and it just kept going and going and-

“STOP!”

The noise stopped.

There would have been silencing if not for her own shallow breaths. Karen doesn’t know how much time passes by until she chanced looking again.

The second man’s frozen mid swing. There’s blood. There’s so much blood everywhere but even so, her eyes land on the _metal fucking arm_ with the shiny silver that’s been painted red, the fist dripping with blood and her attacker-

Oh god.

His face.

Or what’s left of it.

But the metal arm.

“Sergeant Barnes?” her voice shook as she asked it. She doesn’t get a reaction, but she noticed the sideward glance in her direction. She sucked in another breath. Shutting her eyes, she tried to control her breathing before finally getting her legs to listen to her.

“Let him go.”

There’s a thud.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention in the previous chapter; the Title's a reference to 'We met one Stormy Night", a really cute animated movie about the friendship between a wolf and a goat. Check it out if you're into animated movies~

Bucky Barnes just saved her life.

James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes of the Howling Commandos, best friend of Steven Grant “Captain America” Rogers, the DC terrorist, _The Winter Soldier_ just caved in the face of her mugger and saved her from getting gutted with a rusty switchblade.

Karen was having mixed feelings about all this.

She was hoping this was all part of some weird, sleep deprivation induced, caffeine coma but after she rubbed her the blur from her eyes, she found she was still standing there in the snowy alley, surrounded by some guy’s blood.

And Sergeant Barnes was still there.

He was standing statue still, a corpse slumped at his feet, blue eyes watching her with intent. What that intent was exactly, she couldn’t say for sure, but he wasn’t running, away nor towards her. Karen could almost say he seemed relaxed, as if he were waiting for her to do something and, oh god, she really should do something.

Karen raised her hands slowly, palms out in a pacifying motion, as if to say _please don’t attack me._ She could’ve almost sworn she saw Bucky relax, shoulders lowering just the slightest bit, but she couldn’t tell with her re-blurring vision.

She reached down into the snow, brushed her fingers around until she found the small chunk of plastic and metal she was looking for. And cursed when she cut her thumb trying to unlock the shattered screen.

_Perfect._

Of course her phone’s broken. _Of fucking course_.

But.

Even if she had her phone, who was she going to call? The cops? Could the NYPD even deal with this? S.H.I.E.L.D.? Or it is HYDRA now? The Avengers? Tony Stark or Steve Rogers? Call them and wrap herself up in all that controversy? Have people looking into her past, bringing up Daniel’s murder, looking into Nelson and Murdock and, Christ, what if they find out about Matt? Will he get dragged into all that Registration shit, and if she drags Matt into this then Foggy, Foggy finally has that job at HC and B, and _Wesley_ -

Karen stumbled forward, finding herself lightheaded because _she hit her head three times_ and she was _still_ bleeding. She could still feel it.

Before Karen could hit the ground, a hand grabbed her shoulder.

She caught the scream in her throat before it escaped, flashing her eyes upwards to see Bucky stopping her from crashing forward, flesh hand gently keeping her up by the shoulder and holding his metal arm behind himself. He was somehow keeping his distance. She sucked in another breath, watching rivulets of red follow the contours of metal plates to drip dots into the snow. Bucky must catch the fear in her eyes because he shifted his arm slightly further back, and Karen looked up just in time to catch his expression. _Is he…?_

Realisation hit her like a freight train.

He’s doing that for her sake.

“Sergeant Barnes…? Are you…?”

_Are you what exactly?_ She shook her head. Bucky doesn’t react to the name, _his_ name, but she noticed the way his eyes seemed to light up when she began talking.

“You…” She breathed out before continuing.

“You need to clean your arm. The blood. Get it all off.”

Bucky glanced down before backing away slowly, waiting as Karen steadied herself. She managed to regain her composure, assumingly to Bucky’s satisfaction because his attention turned to his left arm. He wiped off most of the blood with his right hand, flicking it onto the ground as if he were simply drying his hands. He couldn’t get it all off with this method however.

Karen watched as he knelt down, holding his metal arm above the snow. Then for a split second, she heard it. It’s the first noise she’s heard him make since ‘meeting’ him, and she could only describe it as somewhere between a grunt and a yelp. Pained. And this confused her, because he certainly didn’t show any pain or fear when he was smashing the mugger’s skull in. Maybe she imagined it.

Meanwhile, Karen succeeded in locating her purse and her _cracked_ laptop. She’d be more upset about that if she wasn’t still reeling from shock.

She shoved her phone in her pocket, searched the area in case there was anything else that could tie her to this… this crime scene.

There were no visible cameras in the area. Bucky had removed most of the blood, at least the stuff he could remove. Dark drops dotted his grey hoodie where it soaked into the fabric, impossible to hide. But it was still early, the streets were empty.

“Take me home.”

 

Walking the final block to her New York apartment was a lot more arduous than it usually was. Of course, that was to be expected when she was cut and bruised all over, bleeding from the back of her skull and absolutely on edge because _Bucky Barnes_ was helping her get home like a drunken best friend.

She was shaking like a leaf, trudging along in her broken heels with Bucky following behind her, silent and guarding. He made odd noises whenever she stumbled, and if Karen didn’t know any better, she’d say he was worried.  

No, he _was_ worried.

On a particularly bad stumble, she had fallen forward and the Winter Soldier had grabbed her arm. And she’d _squealed_ at the biting freeze of metal on delicate bare skin, and Bucky only ever touched her with his flesh hand after that.

 

After several seconds of fighting with the lock, Karen kicked open her apartment door. Once Bucky entered, she locked it, leaning against the wooden frame she shut her eyes to take a few moments of breath. Karen gave the door a light bump with her forehead before gathering the nerve to look behind her.

The Winter Soldier was standing in her apartment.

Actually, no, the Winter Soldier was exploring her apartment.

She watched as he wondered about, up to each of the windows to fiddle with their locks before pulling the curtains closed. He checked them, twice, before shuffling towards the door Karen was leaning against. Her heart rate spiked as he stopped in front of her, lifted his head and pointed.

“I, uh.”

_Words Karen. You’re a reporter, use your words._

“Ye, yes, of course, go ahead.” _Eloquent._

She slid a step or two to the right as Bucky checked door’s lock. Once he was satisfied with that, he directed his point at her. She raised a brow at this.

“Um, I’m sorry, what are you…?”

There was a grunt in response. Bucky touched the back of his head.

“Oh, oh right, yes, ahh…” she indicated at her kitchen table.

“Just, just wait there. I’ll be right back.”

Trudging to her bathroom, she opened the cabinet above the sink, grabbing the metal med kit she’d restocked just a week or two ago. And thank god for that. She never thought she’d end up using it on herself.

When she made it back to her kitchen, Bucky Barnes was sitting at her dining table. Karen was still trying to process that statement when she caught sight the glint of a small hunk of metal.

There’s a knife on a table.

A big ass knife.

A dagger really.

When Bucky caught her staring at it, he slid it towards her, handle first. Karen absently reached forward to touch it but once her fingers brushed the leather handle, she recoiled as if it had bitten her.

Shaking her head, she found her eyes flicking over to a certain cupboard.

_Fuck it._

She flung open the doors and took a big gulp of whiskey straight from the bottle.

 

Karen was only vaguely aware of Bucky sorting through the med kit. She’d poured a glass of whiskey for the Winter Soldier as well, sliding it in front of him but Bucky had just glanced at it, turning back to the medical supplies seconds later. _Maybe he’s a vodka guy? Ha, way to stereotype Karen._

Karen wasn’t sure when Bucky started treating her wounds. One moment she was reading the label of a bandage and the next there’s an antiseptic smell, plastic being scrunched and torn open, pressure on her head wound.

At some point, Karen rested her chin on folded arms and succumbed to fatigue.

 

* * *

 

 

Ducking his head under his arms, Matt braced himself as he was thrown bodily from the top of the rooftop. He counted the half seconds; _one, two, three,_ before he landed in the open dumpster with a loud _whump._

Matt groaned as the air around him exploded with new scents; _rotten banana skins, half eaten stinking fish, five day Chinese takeout, milk two weeks past the use-by date, dirty dish water, used-_

He hauled himself out of the dumpster to escape the onslaught of smells attacking his nose, pressing his face into the snow and letting out another groan.

Much better.  

He’d much rather contend with a dislocated shoulder than lay in a New York dumpster. Actually did he-

No dislocated shoulder.

Good.

He still needed to deal with the rest of that bunch on the rooftop and Matt didn’t need a non-complying shoulder blade getting in his way.

Drawing his arms underneath himself, he tilted his head upwards, cocking it to the side as he listened. There were three rapid heartbeats making their way downstairs, three heartbeats carrying the wooden and metal rings of baseball bats and pipes, three more heads he’d need to knock together and leave on the NYPD’s doorstep. And then he can go home and sleep. It’s been a long night.

Reaching for his billy club, Matt forced himself to his feet. He pressed himself up against the wall next to the fire exit door and waited.

 

Matt had one final task to do before he turned it in for the night.

For the past few days he’s been tracking a certain sound; the rhythmic clicks and whirs of some type of unknown metal alloy.

It’s the unknown part that had Matt worrying. It wasn’t hard for him to distinguish the high _ting_ of say, aluminium from darker sounding copper. But this? Matt couldn’t tell what it was. He knew it was _some_ type of metal but that’s about as far as he could describe it.

The heavy _thump thump_ of the heart beat that accompanied it was just as hard to trace. Strong and loud like a marching band. It practically screamed military, and if that wasn’t enough, the stale gunpowder scent that accompanied it was. He would be more worried about the firearms but as far as he could tell, mystery beat didn’t have any guns on them.

The thing is though, Matt could never get close enough to figure out who the mystery heartbeat belonged to. Whenever he had gotten within range to stop and listen, the heartbeat would spike, growing louder as they moved in his general direction. And Matt had slunk away, not wanting to reveal himself just yet.

The heartbeat was always alone. The oddest thing (amongst the whole slew of odd things) though, it seemed whoever it was never moved from their position in the alley. Not if it rained, not if it snowed, not if it hailed, _not for food or water._ The word _Inhuman_ had flashed in his mind more than once.

Days passed but Matt never confronted them. Because despite the possible threat, they never did anything. And the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen doesn’t attack without provocation.

But the Devil stayed listening.

 

Matt would come to regret that decision.

He nearly stumbled mid rooftop jump when he caught the overwhelming scent of blood. He rolled as he landed, continuing forward until he was on his feet, one hand on the ground and head tilted upwards.

Drum beats wasn’t there but Jimmy Neilson is.

Underneath all the blood and sweat and sinew and _brain matter_ he could make out the cheap cigarettes, the meth and ice, the even cheaper alcohol (dear God, cleaning ethanol?). And Jimmy lacked a heartbeat.

 

Climbing down from the escape ladder, Matt paced the area.

He inhaled deeply. Unknown metal. Matt cursed under his breath. More blood. Someone else’s intermingled with Jimmy’s. Paper. Coffee. Women’s perfume.

Wait.

_KAREN._


End file.
